Chapter 15 #2
“Through this?” her mother asked, finally turning from the window. “His wife’s murder? The fact he’s a suspect? And that you are?”
“I’m not!”
“You’re not stupid; I know that,” her mother said. “But in this case, you are being a fool. It was written all over that detective’s face. He thinks he killed her for you. To be with you. He might think you planned it together.”
“That’s crazy! I never would! And Pete wouldn’t either—and he didn’t!
Mom, you don’t know the art market—the painting that was stolen is extraordinary.
I can’t even imagine trying to set a price for it.
That’s the motive—an art thief killed Beth for Moonlight.
And it’s not the first time it’s been stolen—or caused a death.
” She said it with conviction, precisely as if she really believed it.
“You’re being naive,” her mother said. “You’d rather believe in a cursed painting than see the truth. Your boyfriend killed his wife.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying. This is a terrible time for Pete. To lose Beth this way. He’s beside himself,” Nicola said. Tyler stirred in his crib, waking up. She lifted him out and nuzzled his head.
“What I understand is that it’s terrible for Beth. And her daughter and the baby. And her sister.”
“Mom, I know. I’m heartbroken. Pete is too!”
Her mother was tall and strong, her hands callused and rough from her job.
She had sharp cheekbones and a long straight nose she’d inherited from her French Canadian father and English mother.
Her long dark hair had a single wide white streak on the left side that had been there as long as Nicola could remember.
She was the crème br?lée of mothers: hard shell on the outside, total mush on the inside.
“You sound very sympathetic to Pete,” Jean said.
“Of course.”
“Then what are you doing here?” Jean asked in a flat tone.
“I . . . we . . .”
“I know you had a fight. I realize there’s stress,” her mother said.
“But some women get through that without running home to their mothers. Honey, I know you’re scared.
You are scared to death. I don’t know what he did to you—put the fear of God into you, I can tell. Did he hit you? Knock you down?”
“No, Mom, he never would; I swear.”
“Did he confess to you?”
“I told you, no!”
“Nicola, I know my daughter. I can tell when you’re lying. And when you’re terrified. I think you know he did it. Either he told you, or deep down inside, you just feel it.”
“You are so wrong,” Nicola said. She tried to sound as if she was outraged at her mother’s ideas.
She told herself the man she loved could never have killed anyone—but she stayed awake as long as possible every night because every time she fell asleep, she dreamed of seeing Pete with his hands around Beth’s neck.
She kept trying to tell herself dreams meant nothing.
She was probably reacting to his anger, the intensity of it right after Tyler was born.
Pete had still been officially living at home with Beth and Sam but spending every possible moment with Nicola and their son.
He would apologize, telling her he loved her, he loved Tyler—if only she would quit nagging him to leave Beth.
If only she would keep the baby quiet when he visited so he could think.
He was a brilliant man, and changing diapers was beneath him.
So to keep him happy, she had tried so hard to push aside her wish that they could be a real family, living together during these first days and weeks of Tyler’s life.
She loved taking care of their baby. She wanted Pete to love him as much as she did.
It killed her that Pete didn’t share in the joy, that he seemed about to explode in rage whenever she asked him to feed or change or even walk Tyler until he fell asleep. So she had stopped asking.
What had happened to the girl from Bard? That strong, funny, sexy, smart, sure-of-herself person named Nicola? How could someone so dynamic have turned into a mouse? She was positive that if she ever met her old self, she’d be scared of her.
But she wasn’t scared of Pete—she told herself that over and over. The pressure of the police investigation was getting to him, because he wanted them to go after the person who had invaded their home and killed Beth instead of wasting their energy on him. Not because he had anything to hide.
Well, almost anything. Nicola thought about what she’d seen Pete stash in the boarded-up dumbwaiter in the upstairs hall, above the kitchen in Cloudlands. Murderers kept trophies, didn’t they? Is that what Pete was doing? She bit her lip hard, trying to block the image from her mind.
It didn’t work.
It had absolutely devastated her to see him doing that, and that’s when she had left. She had driven straight home to her mother. But she had to admit to herself: even before Beth’s murder, she had started to wonder whether he could hurt her and Tyler.
She told herself now that she was being crazy.
He hadn’t killed his wife and unborn baby.
He wasn’t keeping trophies. His current moods were related to helplessness over the ridiculously misguided investigation.
He needed Nicola as much as she needed him.
He had always told her she brought light into his life. Her fear was so misplaced.
She sighed and rose to her feet.
“What are you doing?” her mother asked.
“Going home with Pete,” she said.
“Please, no,” her mother said. “Listen to your gut. I know you, sweetheart. You came here because you’re terrified.”
“That is not true. I just had to . . .”
“What?”
“Let him get through the funeral. Beth’s cremation. But now it’s over, and it’s time for us to go home.”
She went into her old bedroom, packed up Tyler’s diaper bag and her backpack with the few things she’d brought with her, and kissed her mother goodbye. Jean didn’t say a word. Carrying Tyler, Nicola walked out the front door.
Pete grinned through the windshield, his blond hair tousled, his pale gray-blue eyes shining with expectation and happiness.
He got out of the car, opened the back door, took Tyler and buckled him into his car seat.
He turned to Nicola, wrapped her in his arms, rocked her as they stood right there on the sidewalk. She knew her mother was watching.
“It will be better,” he whispered into her ear. “I promise. I love you so much.”
“I love you too,” she whispered, closing her eyes.
Just before she did, she spotted a big black car parked down the street.
Was it the detective, watching her? Were she and Pete about to be arrested?
Or maybe it was just a car service, waiting to drive one of the neighbors somewhere.
She didn’t know what to think anymore. She closed her eyes so tight she saw stars.